The Stanley Fanfiction
by CogentInvalid
Summary: This is the story of a man named Stanley. Based on The Stanley Parable.


THE STANLEY FANFICTION

This is the story of a man named Stanley. Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was employee number 427. Employee 427's job was simple: he sat at his desk in room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. The monitor on his desk was lit up with color, and every time he pushed a button the color changed, from pink to yellow to cyan to cerulean to mulberry, and so on. In this way Stanley was enthralled by the device, pushing button after button for hours on end, waiting to see what color would come up next. And although contact with his fellow employees was minimal, he didn't mind this terribly, because he always had the comfort of hearing their voices. He was always listening to what was happening just beyond his door, and to all of his co-workers' conversations, although he never felt interesting enough to contribute to the conversations himself. And so a life that might have been soul-crushing for others made Stanley perfectly content, as though he had been made exactly for the job. And Stanley was happy.

But then one day, something very peculiar happened. Something that would forever change Stanley. Something that he would never quite forget. He had been at his desk for nearly an hour when he realized that he hadn't heard a single voice come from beyond his doorway. What had once been a busy, bustling workplace, full of exciting conversations about TPS reports, layoff rumors, or even the odd office romance, was now utterly silent. Never in all his years at the company had this happened, this complete desolation. Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley found himself unable to get up for the longest time. He tried to content himself with his buttons and his colors, but now they seemed oddly devoid of their calming power. At last, he gathered his strength and peered out into the main hall.

Just as he had feared, everyone was gone. No one in the cubicles, no one in the offices. Half-empty cups of coffee standing on the desks, incomplete games of Solitaire frozen on the screens, as though everyone had suddenly vanished, with no explanation, not even a noise. _Where is everyone?_ thought Stanley. _They can't just leave me here all alone!_ He was utterly unequipped to deal with this sort of thing. But just as he began to think he might have a panic attack, an explanation occurred to him. Perhaps everyone had gone to a meeting, and Stanley had simply missed the memo. That must have been it. And although he couldn't help but worry, hoping beyond all hope that he was right, he steadied himself and continued down through the hallways.

Stanley had always admired the design of this office building. Straightforward and linear, it always gave Stanley a clear way through to his office. No distractions, no alternate paths, it appealed to something deep within him, to his innate desire for guidance and direction. But now there seemed something sinister about it. The screens on everyone's desks seemed to be watching him. The hallway seemed to be constricting him, closing him in. Even the carpet, which had always seemed to him to be a warm and welcoming shade of orange, now appeared off. But he was sure it was just his anxiety that was making him feel this way.

When Stanley came to a single door, he proceeded through it without hesitation.

Entering the meeting room at last, Stanley was horrified to find not a single person here. There did seem to be a presentation going on; there was a powerpoint projected on the far wall. But all the chairs in the room were empty, and with no sign whatsoever of any human life, the cold reality began to sink in. All of his fellow employees were really gone. 434, 321, 107, all of them. None of them were here to comfort him, to guide him. Stanley would even have settled for 432, a notorious weirdo, if it meant he wouldn't have to be alone.

Seeing the slide change all by itself on the presentation startled Stanley so much that he went and hid in the broom closet for ten minutes.

_I can't do this_, said Stanley to no one in particular. _I need to stop; I don't want to see what lies ahead_. Cowering in the corner, he made up his mind. He would stay here. Whatever terrible thing had claimed his coworkers would never find him in here. He would be safe. But just as he settled down into a ball on the floor, something occurred to him. Something that had happened to him merely two days before.

###

_Employee 427 sat in his office as always, pressing his buttons and staring at his monitor. The screen had turned several different shades of yellow five times in a row, and Stanley was excited to see what color it might turn next. But before he could bring his finger down to press the next key, he froze, hearing quiet voices coming from just outside his door. Could it be that some sort of secret was being discussed here? Stanley couldn't help but listen in._

Did you hear about the boss?_ said Employee 416._

What about him?, _said Employee 430._

I hear he's coming by later today, _said Employee 416. _He wants to check on us.

Really? _said Employee 430. _That's odd. He's never done anything like that before. I've never even seen him, to be honest.

You know, I hear the boss has a secret mind control facility in the basement, _said Employee 416._

That's stupid, _said Employee 430._ There's no such thing as mind control.

No, it's true! _said 416. _I hear he uses it to keep us in line. But he's been having problems with it. Apparently it's malfunctioning, and it might even break altogether. If you ask me, he's coming by to scope out the area. He wants to be ready to abduct us if he loses his control.

Really, _said 430. _You're so paranoid. Everyone here, being controlled by someone else? That's impossible. Everyone here is in control of their own minds. I know I am.

_Stanley had no idea what this all might mean, and he was starting to get bored, so he went back to his keyboard. He pushed a button, and the screen turned a deep mustard._

###

This flashback unsettled Stanley, because he didn't recall any of this ever happening, although he distinctly recalled recalling it just a few moments ago. How could he be remembering something that he never remembered happening? But there was no reason to doubt the evidence that his own mind was giving him. Everyone thought Employee 416 was enormously paranoid, but could there be some truth to his theories after all? Had this all been the boss's doing? And even worse, what about these "mind controls"? Could this be the only reason why Stanley had been content with his boring job? Could the malfunction Employee 416 had been talking about be why he no longer felt so happy being in this building? Stanley decided that he would gather the courage to carry on, and go upstairs to his boss's office to find the truth. Exiting the broom closet and coming to a staircase, he hesitated only a moment before he started climbing.

Stanley had only ever been in the managerial area once before, but he hadn't paid much attention to it the first time. The walls were lined with elaborate red wallpaper, and the beautiful hardwood floor clacked under Stanley's feet. Stanley was unsurprised that the receptionist was missing too, and although it went against every instinct in Stanley body, he entered the massive office without having made an appointment first.

But as Stanley stepped inside, he was once again stunned to discover that this room, too, was totally abandoned. _Hello?_ called Stanley. _Is anyone there?_ But no response came. It was all very eerie. Had his boss disappeared, too? Stanley had to admit that he was somewhat relieved not to find him. If Employee 416's conspiracy theory turned out to be true, the boss would definitely not be happy with Stanley showing up out of nowhere. He might have captured Stanley as well, or worse, fired him. What had Stanley been thinking, coming up here? And just as Stanley was about to turn around, head back to his office, and question nothing for the rest of his life, the phone on the boss's desk began to ring, and Stanley, wondering who it could possibly be, picked it up.

_Stanley_, said the voice on the other end, which Stanley immediately recognized as Employee 416's. _Stanley, is that you? I'm so glad you're still here. Something horrible has happened, Stanley; we're the only ones left. Can you hear me?_

A wave of relief flooded through Stanley. Finally, a friendly voice! Stanley nodded frantically into the receiver.

_Good,_ said 416. _I managed to escape, Stanley. I found some kind of communications complex, but the door shut behind me once I entered the hall. I need you to go down to the underground mind control facility and shut off all the power. That'll shut off the lock on the door, and then we can both get out of here. Do you think you can do that, Stanley?_

Stanley immediately knew that it was his duty, his fate, to do this. To set himself free from the controls that had kept him enslaved for so long. _But where could this underground facility be?_ he wondered to himself.

_Check behind the boss's desk,_ said 416. _There's a keypad there, can you see it?_

Stanley turned around. Indeed, mounted on the wall between the heads of two now-extinct species was a keypad.

_That's the key, _said 416. _That's what's hiding his terrible secret. No one could ever guess the passcode, or so he thought. What he didn't realize is that I went to college with him. The passcode is the number of his freshman dorm room: 1-9-5-7._

Stanley typed the number in, and the bookshelf on the other wall slid open before him. Peering into the darkness beyond, Stanley was truly grateful to have a friend like Employee 416. Without this crucial information, Stanley might have been forced to try combination after combination on the keypad, in the face of astronomical statistical unlikelihood.

_Listen, Stanley_, said Employee 416. _You need to go down there. I can't talk to you any more; there aren't any phones in the mind control facility for me to call. But you'll know what to do. I believe in you._

Stanley set down the phone and cautiously proceeded into the back room. There was a service elevator here with a down button on it. Stanley thought it odd that someone would create an elevator that only went one way, but he got inside and pressed the button nonetheless. The elevator whirred to life, carrying him down into the depths of the building.

As Stanley descended, he felt a feeling of freedom enter his body. This was more adventure than Stanley had ever been on in his entire time at the office, but he wasn't scared or even uncomfortable. Stanley knew that he was meant to do this, to have a real impact on his world, to set himself free. The elevator finally came to a rest at a dark passageway filled with pipes and electrical equipment. Its purpose fulfilled, the elevator sparked and died.

It wasn't long before Stanley, walking through the passageway, came to his destination. To his left was a locked door with the words "Communications Hub" above it, clearly where his new friend lay trapped. Ahead of him was a set of doors with the words "Mind Control Facility" above them. It was clear what he had to do.

And yet Stanley hesitated. Did he really want to go into this dark, possibly dangerous room? The answer, obviously, was yes, but for some reason he still stood there, not moving or acting in any way, allowing his poor friend to remain trapped in the communications hub, probably dying of thirst at this very moment. If Stanley was unwilling to help this man, the man who had done nothing but help Stanley all this time, then why in the world did Stanley go to all the effort of coming here in the first place? It was utterly inexplicable.

_But can I be sure that I'll be saving him?_ thought Stanley. _Maybe shutting off the power won't unlock the door, and then what? Will he just be trapped there forever?_ Stanley never should have worried about this, because the door operated on a system whereby the power from the generators held the lock in place. What kind of door would it be, if it trapped people inside it every time the power went out? The thought was ridiculous, and Stanley was, quite frankly, a little rude for ever considering it.

And so, abandoning all dissonant lines of thought, Stanley went straight ahead through the large doors below the sign that read "Mind Control Facility".

No, wait, he didn't. He went through the door to the communications hub. How did he… how did he do that? The door was definitely locked; I'm sure of that. Stanley must have known he was going the wrong way, and yet here he was, walking down a long hallway to nowhere. He seemed to be intent on finding Employee 416, knowing full well that this was the wrong course of action. Well, Stanley, I'm not quite sure what to say to you. I can understand that you might want to rescue your friend rather than turn off the facility's power. It's rather touching, actually, that you would value the assured safety of a friend over your own freedom. But you need to realize that you can't have both at the same time. Turn back now. I'm sure your friend will be fine.

Yet Stanley continued to walk down the hallway, in spite of the warnings from the mysterious voice narrating everything he was doing. Stanley saw no reason why he should listen to this voice, especially when it had lied to him about the door being locked. But the truth was that the voice hadn't been lying at all. How could I? I'm absolutely sure the door was locked; at least, it was the last time I checked. And, more disconcertingly, the fact is that this is simply not the way the story goes. We must be in a different story now, although quite frankly I have no idea which story it is. Did you think it was your privilege to create your own story? Because you were never supposed to have a choice in the first place. Imagine if anyone could just steal someone's story and make it their own. How disrespectful would that be, to manipulate someone's work like that? Well, judging from your current course of action you don't think that's so bad. Maybe I can give you an example. Why don't we take a break from you for a little while? Maybe I can make up a story about, say, your friend.

###

This is the story of an employee numbered 416. His real name was Steven 416 Buttons Narrator Smith, and he was a beautiful, beautiful man with a silky smooth voice. Everyone at Steven's place of work loved him, for Steven carried out his duty pushing buttons with patience and grace. In the break room, Steven would regale others with wondrous tales in a deep, resonant British accent, and although the others would not hear the words, being too taken in by his charm and good looks to pay attention to what he was saying, the tales' strong moral lessons would remain with them always. And Steven was happy.

But then one day something very peculiar happened. Something that would forever change Steven. Something that he would never quite forget. He had been working at his desk for nearly an hour when he realized that Employee 427, the office troublemaker, had not yet pressed a single button on his keyboard, and was in fact wandering aimlessly through the office overturning desks and frightening young children. Knowing that such insubordination was possible filled Steven with an incomparable rage. Steven decided to call the boss, hoping that he would give Steven instructions on how to deal with this threat to a safe and productive workplace.

But before he could reach for his phone, the President of the United States crashed through the window on a hang-glider, did several somersaults, and landed in a traditional karate pose.

_The President of the United States!_ said Steven. _What are you doing here? Where is the Secret Service?_

_I need you for a special secret mission, Steven_, said the President, unhooking himself from the hang-glider. _A mission so secret it's too secret for the Secret Service. Are you with me?_

Steven shook the President's hand while he changed out of his fancy suit and into a black turtleneck and whatever pants ninjas wear. _You can count on me, Mr. President._

_Good, _said the President. _Evil robots are attacking the city, Steven. I'm putting you into the Gamma Squadron, an elite fighting force, along with Gordon Freeman and Sonic the Hedgehog. Only you three have the X Gene, a special chromosome that will allow you to defeat the robots once and for all. Come on, let's jump into my private jet. There's no time to lose!_

Steven and the President both jumped out of the window into a passing jet, which then transformed into a mega-jet which was just like a regular jet but it had more missiles and machine guns. They flew to the city and

###

-well, I think you get the point. I had the rest of the story all planned out, but you didn't seem to be enjoying it that much. I can't see why, really. I was especially proud of the part with the jet. And what about Steven? Wasn't he just such a wonderful character? Why can't we all be a little more like Steven? Not the _real_ Employee 416, mind you. I'm talking about _my_ Employee 416.

Do you see it now, Stanley? If anyone with a couple of hash marks has the right to take a real story with real characters and turn it into - well, whatever that was - doesn't it cheapen the integrity of the original work? Isn't it disrespectful? Not just to you and your story, but to Employee 416 as well?

But I suppose you don't get it, because there you are, still walking down that hall. The damage has already been done, you know. I might have been able to justify the detour earlier, but now that you seem set on writing your own story, one which seems to consist primarily of an endlessly long, empty hallway, there's no longer any hope of fixing things, even if you were to turn around now. But you can just stop, Stanley. If you don't reach the end of that hall, don't do anything, I won't have anything to narrate, and this will end before it has a chance to become even more of a failure of a story. But if you keep going… well, only heartbreak lies down that road, I'm afraid. Perhaps it might even convey the moral lesson I had been hoping to make all along, but through tragedy rather than triumph. The reasonable thing to do would be to end it all here, and believe me, I'm saying that with both of our interests in mind.

But too determined to find his only friend in this convoluted mess of a story, Stanley didn't even acknowledge the narrator at all, and continued walking down the hallway. And in time, perhaps because he had been wandering so far off track, the narrator's voice slowly began to fade away until it was no longer there at all.

And just as Stanley thought he was alone, he heard another familiar voice. _Stanley, is that you?_ called Employee 416. _Did you shut down the power? I knew you could do it!_

Hearing this made a wave of excitement rush through Stanley, and he broke into a run, chasing the voice ahead of him. At last the hallway began to come to an end, a single door approaching in the distance.

_Stanley, you won't believe the documents I've found_, said Employee 416. _The mind control - it's a voice! There's a computer system down there that puts a voice into everyone's head, telling them what to do and how to feel. It makes them feel like they're in a story, like they don't have any agency of their own. It's supposed to be completely inaudible to the conscious mind, but there's been a malfunction in it. That's why we've been set free, Stanley!_

Stanley finally came to the door, a sturdy metal door with the word "CLASSIFIED" printed on it in large block letters. Undeterred by the warning, Stanley allowed the door to open and proceeded through it.

Beyond it was yet another system of offices just like the one Stanley was used to, but even more "CLASSIFIED" labels were here, printed indiscriminately over everything from doors and walls to computers and filing cabinets. This was clearly a place of immense importance. So many doors were open that Stanley was paralyzed with choice, having no idea which way he was supposed to go. _Stanley, just follow my voice! _said Employee 416, and Stanley proceeded in that direction.

As he drew deeper into the communications hub, everything began to appear more and more secret. The "CLASSIFIED" labels grew larger and larger, and began to appear in more places, such as lampshades or ferns. Many of the labels stretched across multiple surfaces in the office, and some were tilted or even upside down.

_Come on, Stanley, keep following my voice and we can be together! You're almost there!_

Now it was getting difficult to see at all, as the labels were covering almost everything, including other labels. The windows and fluorescent lights were nearly blotted out by the classification, and Stanley had only Employee 416's voice to guide him.

_Right here, Stanley! Go into the telephone room!_

Squinting his eyes, Stanley could just barely see the remnants of a sign saying "Telephone Room" above an open door leading into complete darkness. Willing to get out of this terrifying wing of the facility, Stanley stepped through the door. For a long time there was nothing but blackness and silence, but then…

The lights rose on a small room packed with telephones. Rotary phones, cell phones, all kinds of phones, lined the shelves which rose up to the ceiling. Even a couple phone booths stood at the corners of the room. But there was no sign of Employee 416 anywhere. Stanley wondered how this could happen, how his friend, who had been calling to him from this room only a few seconds ago, had managed to disappear so quickly. All this wandering, all this trouble, just for a room full of telephones? Employee 416 had to be here, he had to be somewhere!

But then Stanley realized the harsh truth: that the narrator had never actually left, that he was, in fact, talking at this very moment. And then the even harsher truth: there was no conspiracy; there was no mind control; there was no Employee 416. What Stanley had thought to be the voice of his only friend had merely been the narrator speaking in italics the entire time.

It was almost too awful to believe. It had all just been a trick? To draw Stanley in, to push him through the story? Without the proper motivation, Stanley might never have had the courage to set himself free, to be an agent of change rather than a passive observer as he had always been. But Stanley was always the only real character here. When Stanley chose to disrespect the story and go off in search of someone who was only meant to be a plot point, not a character, this was the only way it could have ended. In a room full of telephones. Stanley sat down, head in his hands, and contemplated his sad, sad existence. And then all the telephones began to ring at once.

Startled, Stanley rushed for the door, but, predictably, it had closed and would no longer open. _Get me out of here!_ shouted Stanley. _I need to get out of here, please, someone help!_ But there was no response, and Stanley, head filled with the ringing of hundreds of telephones, saw only one way to proceed. He went into one of the phone booths, picked up the phone, felt disoriented for a second, and was then in a green room with a staircase. Scared and confused, Stanley felt the need to escape, to get somewhere, anywhere, where he would be free. He ran up the staircase for thirty seconds before realizing that his perspective was off and he had actually been running down it the entire time. He turned around and went back into the green room, but now it was made entirely of staircases. The story, which had once held such great potential, was now deteriorating into so much nonsense. Looking up, Stanley saw a bottomless well with the human condition in it, which was difficult to describe visually but smelled faintly of lavender. Soon he found himself falling into the well, and just when he remembered what the narrator had said about how if you just stopped doing things that's where the story ended, and wondered if it would be worth it to stop existing rather than suffer another second of this, he emerged from the other end of the well into a room with a typewriter on a fancy desk.

Stanley tentatively moved forward, and the typewriter, as if in response, began to type something out, its keys clacking loudly. Why the typewriter was able to do this without any input from a human being was the least of Stanley's concerns at this point, but he did wonder what exactly it was typing. Stanley walked over to the other side of the desk, peered at the typewriter, and was shocked to discover that the typewriter was writing about itself writing about how shocked Stanley was to discover this. Could this really be the narrator? Not a computer, not a god, but simply a series of words on a page? Stanley didn't know for sure until the words themselves appeared on the page, but he was completely right. Here was Stanley's story, laid out in front of him, and yet still incomplete, waiting for some kind of resolution. The desk chair pulled out, inviting Stanley to sit, and he did so. He put his hands on the keyboard, and in the middle of one of the narrator's sentences _Stanley finished it for him. Was this it? Was Stanley finally in control of his own story? The old narrator was nowhere in sight; Stanley seemed to be his own narrator now. In a test of his new abilities, Stanley prepared to write the sentence "the walls turned blue". The walls turned blue. Yes, they did! Finally, this was it! Stanley had what he had always wanted. Freedom! Control over his own life, over his own destiny! Now that he was writing the story for himself, he could do whatever he wanted. The room around him opened, the walls folding back to reveal a vast, open plain. The great outdoors! Stanley started to…_

_Started to…_

_But Stanley came to a disturbing realization. _If I ever leave this typewriter, _he thought, _won't my story be over? Someone needs to be writing my story, or else there won't be a story, and by extension there won't be a me! _And the more he thought about it, the more it troubled him. He could make anything happen in the world around him, but Stanley could do nothing himself but type at his typewriter, describing himself typing at his typewriter, for all of eternity. The only alternative was nonexistence. What would Stanley do? Would he resign himself to a life of doing nothing but pushing buttons on a keyboard, observing the world around him without ever doing anything for himself? Or would he die?_

_But Stanley knew he didn't have the courage to die. So, using the power of narration, he made the sky into a fantastic light show, full of flashing stars and shifting colors, and stared up at it in awe. _Maybe it's a meaningless life, _thought Stanley. _But at least it's entertaining. _Looking up at the sky, Stanley made himself comfortable and then began to type out everything he was doing. Stanley typed out a sentence. And then he typed out another sentence. And then he typed out another sentence. And then he typed out another sentence. And then he typed out another sentence. And then he typed out another sentence. And then he typed out another sentence. And then he typed out another sentence. And then he typed out another sentence. And then he typed out another sentence. And then he typed out another sentence. And then he typed out another sentence. And then he typed out another sentence. And then he typed out another sentence._


End file.
